Summer Boy
by GreenAngel16
Summary: What if Severus Snape was forced to babysit a 4 year old Harry Potter for one whole summer? Some burdens are blessings in disguise.
1. Prologue

A/N: Hi there. I decided to make this short little story on a whim; it will only be a few chapters. I don't know really why I wanted to write it but it seemed to intrigue me and I couldn't let my little ideas for it leave so wherever I'm going with this story it will come as it may.

 **I do not own Harry Potter. Such rights go to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.**

Summary: What if Severus Snape was forced to babysit a 4 year old Harry Potter for one whole summer? Some burdens are blessings in disguise.

* * *

 **Summer Boy**

 **By GreenAngel16**

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 **Prologue**

June 24th, 1984 Sunday

"It is just one summer, my young man," Albus Dumbledore voiced all too graciously and I have never wanted to punch an old man until this moment, this unthinkable moment.

"You are out of your mind," the words left without warning but I didn't give a damn because this wasn't real, this meeting, it was a dream, some sort of fluxing alcohol induced stupor of an illusion broiling in my brain and I was passed out somewhere, probably my armchair, my neck craned in some horrible unnatural angle that will cause me great pain when I wake and that was the truth, it had to be the truth.

But the encompassed sunlight in this aging wizard's office appeared remarkably real establishing borderlines of a sharp yellow glow upon the man's whirring silver instruments and it festered in my weary eyes, my disastrous hangover begging to be mended.

"I am in a good enough frame of mind, thank you and am faced with an unfortunate dilemma, Severus," Dumbledore responded mildly, folding his hands in front of him and I hated his powder blue robes with those embroidered glinting gold stars and the two Christmas-like bells tied at the end of the old coot's beard and his half-moon spectacles and his smile as if it was asking for my understanding, as if such a process was so effortless. "You are my last resort."

"Then by all means," I hissed.

"So I have your agreement?"

"Of course not, you dolt! This is ridiculous! Insane! A joke! I cannot believe, no matter what the tragic reason, that you would think I, me, _me_ , Albus, would be even a fraction, the tiniest, minute, _microscopic_..."

I was sputtering and I hardly sputter.

"Severus─"

"... _choice_ to be a _candidate_ for such an absurd task! You have gone mad, absolutely barmy! You tell me this is one of your...outlandish spoofs like that time with my office door or my Christmas stocking or those blasted Cornish pixies! Or even the dog! Tell me you are joking! You tell me right now!"

"If only I could, Severus," Dumbledore sighed.

There was a growing heat in my face, my lungs feeling pinched, my breathing irregular, my head pounding relentlessly.

" _No_ ," I said with impervious certitude.

"Severus," those watery blue eyes were trapping me.

"I said _no_ ," my voice was strictly sinister.

"I don't have another choice in the matter─"

"That's a lie! There are other teachers! Unbelievably more suitable! Any of your old acquaintances, other relatives, daycares, orphanages─"

"Please, Severus, all the other teachers have gone─"

"Call them back! Send an owl; surely this matter is of enough dire importance that their precious little holidays can be interrupted! McGonagall! Sprout! Sinistra! The librarian!"

"Madame Pince," Dumbledore lent handily.

"Yes, her, she's─"

"They've all gone─"

"Grubbly-Plank─"

"She's lost some limbs─"

"The half-giant, Hagrid yes, Hagrid─"

"Much too big of hands─"

"We have an art teacher, don't we, somewhere? Or Poppy!? She'd be excellent, she's quite maternal, Trelawney, ok, perhaps not the best out of─"

"Severus, they all have other important engagements and I would rather prefer not to ship the boy around─"

"What about me!? I have engagements, I have priorities! I have a life!"

"My dear young man, what sort of earlier arrangements have you made?"

My mind was shuffling through things as quick as lightning and came up unbearably short.

"I...I am going to France," I tried to sound as believable as I could in front of those calculating eyes but I have never been exceptional at such a feat, not even close. "I leave tomorrow."

"What city in France?" the old wizard questioned.

"City? More like cities, all the cities, I am going to see it all, Paris, Toulouse, Bordeaux, Strasbourg is beautiful this time of year, very warm─"

"Or might it be like last summer where you gave me a letter saying you were traveling to France however in truth you stayed huddled away in your private quarters the entire time until I asked a few of the House Elves why they were cooking up your favorite roast dinner─"

"Blasted elves─" I cursed under my breath.

"Severus, you never leave Hogwarts for more than a few days every year, you remain here for the whole summer, you're hardly busy during it─"

"You're just being presumptuous─"

"And I _trust_ you," Dumbledore finished quietly.

My numb hands were balled into fists, the walls around me feeling as if they were closing in, the sunlit reflections of the concluding afternoon wavering over objects as if it were alive, morphing into oppressive, claw-like hands that were forcing me to abide by this man's inane wish.

I knew I didn't have a life but that didn't mean I was open for this, that didn't mean someone could just barge in and make one for me.

"I don't understand this, Albus! Why can't the child's guardians, those Dundeys─"

"Dursleys."

" _Dursleys_. Why can't they just take the child with them? They're his aunt and uncle."

"They..." and it was quite unlike Dumbledore to have to pause before speaking. "They think the boy to be...a nuisance."

"And you think I would have a different impression!?"

"Severus─" the old man said for the umpteenth time.

" _Implore_ them not to leave, it would be quite painless, _especially_ for you, a simple charm, there are potions I could make─"

"I will not be utilizing any variety of magic on muggles," Dumbledore reasoned gently. "It was a challenge in itself for them to agree to keep the boy, to at least implement enough care for the child─"

"I thought the people you chose to leave the child with were decent, were compatible─"

"There was no other option, it had to be a blood relative of the Evans─"

My brain felt like it had been hit with a shockwave.

"Enough, I have given you my answer and I will not deviate─"

"Severus," the powerful wizard's voice had taken on a much more rigorous tone and my posture straightened involuntarily in response to it. "What answer did you give me that night on that hilltop?"

"Albus─"

"What answer?"

I could not halt my gaze from retreating to the floor and my legs were falling asleep because my knees were locked for so long, my muscles tense and my heart tempered with anxiety.

"...Anything..." I gave it up pathetically and shut out the memories that threatened to invade my consciousness. I would not remember it; I refused to remember any of it.

"I am sorry that I must take advantage of the vow you swore," Dumbledore continued in those sedated low tones. "You are my only alternative. I do not have such time on my hands to care for such a young boy, to be there every minute, not like you. His relatives refuse bullheadedly to take him along and if I hadn't taken my usual yearly excursion to clandestinely observe how the boy was then I would never have known they were planning such a trip with means to drop the boy off many towns over, where it would not have been safe...It is my responsibility to see that Harry remain with people who are trustworthy─"

"Then how can you allow those muggles to leave the child behind!?" I couldn't control the volume of my voice.

"I have written a correspondence for future warning. This was an unpredicted misfortune, Severus, some large portion of money the uncle came into suddenly, I could not reason with them when they were practically out of the door."

"They've already _gone_? And they were going to just abandon the child somewhere?" I said tightly and I didn't know how concern got into those words somewhere.

"I am afraid so," the old wizard responded grimly.

"For Merlin's sake, Albus," I breathed and shut my eyes against the torrent of pain my head was undergoing at the moment, my thoughts barraged and flooded by the bulky fog of a night spent quite alone with a very large bottle of scotch.

"Alas, now you can concur with my dilemma," Dumbledore voiced with some respite.

"Albus, I have no experience with nurturing children," I pushed, my rocky vision making a strong attempt to keep those knowing eyes in straight view.

"Well of course you do, you're a teacher, my boy."

"I am not your boy and I teach from the ages eleven to seventeen, and I can assure you I don't put any of them to bed or console them when they start crying...Oh my god, the crying...I forgot about the crying and it's...how old is it?"

"Harry is not an "it", Harry is a four year old boy," Dumbledore countered nonchalantly.

"I cannot do this, this most certainly is not a good idea─" I exasperated, feeling perspiration under my collar because I was finally beginning to fully realize that this was inevitable. This wasn't a dream, this was a horrid nightmare.

"You are diligent Severus, determined and responsible," the old man spoke with those soft tones that my ears had grown so used to. "You are very experienced under pressure, you have taken upon such tasks that I have implemented to you and succeeded in every one, you are the youngest teacher here and yet have quickly earned the respect of your peers, your students see you as a strict disciplinarian, intelligent─"

"And how does any of that─"

"It means that taking care of a small child for one summer is nowhere near the strenuous challenge you seem to believe it to be," Dumbledore said with calm declaration. "And Harry seems to be a very quiet child, well-behaved, polite and kind; that is what Arabella Figg has relayed to me; she has the boy for now but is not able to watch him for so long."

"And who is she?" I asked with a hint of annoyance.

"A squib I have placed near where the boy lives to look after him for me."

I couldn't suppress the heavy sigh that still felt snared in my bones. I was not seeing a possible way out of the wretched situation I was being given against my will, all roads were blocked and in reality, I was stuck, cornered, the moment the old wizard had summoned me to his office. I didn't know anyone employed at this school who went against Albus Dumbledore's wishes, no matter how incongruous they were. What was this old man thinking? I didn't look like some caretaker, I was much too harsh of a person, much too thorny and yet here we were and I carried no such resolve to attempt to provide Dumbledore another choice because I didn't have a single one left.

Children were not objects to pass around from place to place, from person to person; a child needs constancy, especially a four year old.

But this was James Potter's son and that was exactly why I hated this new job of Dumbledore's. How could a child of that arrogant, imprudent man be anything pleasant to watch over?

And yet, this was also Lily Potter's son and I had made a promise not only to Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of this time, but to myself, to the new man I had decided to be no matter how such a change looked to other people, no matter if it was noticeable or not, but I did not show weakness, not to anyone.

But I could not deny something that Dumbledore was asking of me. It was impossible.

"Why did I waste my breath trying to fight this?" I said grudgingly, desiring nothing more than to return to my bed and sleep for days.

"Severus, I am entirely grateful to have you," the old wizard said with that liveliness in his features that I detested. "Trust me; it will be a good experience for you."

 _Oh piss off_... I could barely think straight, my head might as well have been a cinder block, my throat on fire.

"Now, to go over some rules and instructions," Dumbledore announced briskly.

It took all my willpower to not roll my eyes.

"You will look after the boy for the whole summer in your old muggle residence in Cokeworth."

"What?" I snapped. "Why can't you just bring him here?"

"Because I cannot allow Harry to know of our world yet, not until the proper time," Dumbledore explained and I wanted so badly to let out a yell of pure rage. Return to that damned, haunted house? For a whole summer? This was lunacy.

"I will bring Harry at exactly one p.m. to the location I have specified, I will put up certain wards and protective charms as a precaution, nothing too out of the ordinary and that window of time will allow you to ready the home for Harry's stay."

My neck ached, my stomach rumbled, and I despised the sunset that was occurring outside the office windows.

"You have a good deal of freedom with how you choose to foster the boy, but if you need to execute discipline, I must ask you─"

"I am not going to strike a child, Albus, for god sake," I growled, causing shooting pains to whisk around my skull.

"Forgive me, I was only taking precaution," Dumbledore feigned remorse.

"I can't believe this is happening...I should have just gone to France..." I breathed, trying to get rid of the burning in my chest; I needed to eat something...

"Too late for that now, young man. Now, another rule, there shall be no use of magic─"

"Oh, you can sod─"

"...in the boy's line of sight, really, Severus, you need to mind that temper."

I stood there, unresponsive, my mouth clamped shut, my brain boiling; I knew I was scowling, I was far beyond irritated.

"You are free to take the boy places, just use the necessary preventative measures and of course muggle transportation," Dumbledore continued and I wanted to vomit. I was going to vomit, but I would do it in the privacy of my own restroom later. "Be wary of overcrowded attractions, try to be as patient as you possibly can─"

"You know what, Albus, I think I can manage," I grumbled; weary of the old man's droning voice.

"That's the spirit," Dumbledore gave me one of those smiles that made his eyes twinkle; the ones I detested the most. "One more thing, please make sure to write to me, Severus, I will need updates on the situation and though I will not be at Hogwarts very often you can attempt to firecall me in case of an emergency and if there is a _real_ emergency, you must do everything in your power to protect Harry, do you understand?"

"Of course I understand," I let out reluctantly.

"Well, that is all I have for you," the old man said softly. "Everything else is common sense and minor details that can wait till I bring the boy to the home."

"So I can go?" I spoke gruffly, my composure long since shot out that sunset window.

"Yes, you are dismissed, Severus. Have a good evening," Dumbledore said in finality and I felt like running as far away from this castle as possible.

But I did not run away, I was not a coward.

"Good evening," I muttered before turning on my heel and it was quite difficult to walk in a straight line but I managed to leave the man's office and began my journey back to the dungeons of Hogwarts where my personal quarters awaited me, the bed was calling my name.

I was exhausted, my mind reeling, my spine feeling crushed. How was I supposed to do such a thing? Babysitting was not on my resume.

But there was no other alternative but me.

I had no life so my time was expendable.

My worth was replaceable.

* * *

June 25th, 1984 Monday

I spent the whole day cleaning. Well, using spells to clean anyway. There was a lot to do for my old home including getting rid of all the dust and grime that built up over the years, getting some new furniture in, purchasing groceries, just making the old terraced house appear habitable. It was a fairly plain and simple three bedroom, 2 bathroom home with a fair sized kitchen, a sitting room, an attic and a garden which was quite dead but it was still outside space. Children needed to go outside, right?

I would never let on that I had purchased a certain parenting book that I hid underneath my pillow in the room that had once been my parents' but they were not among the living anymore and I was perfectly fine with that.

Being around muggles and muggle items was second nature to me since my father had been a muggle, an atrocious muggle, but a muggle so I was not so oblivious on how to live a muggle life and I had once been forced to attend primary school until my Hogwarts letter arrived (some of the worst years I have lived through).

Fine, most of my life I have been miserable, there, I've put that out there and now I was a miserable 24 year old with the responsibility of babysitting my dead enemy's and my unrequited love's four year old son for one whole summer.

And it was sort of my fault, mostly my fault, that the boy's parents were dead.

Splendid.

So I was standing now in the sitting room trying not to be reminded of such rueful memories but to no avail and I really wanted to drink but I was quite sure that being sloshed while endeavoring to look after a tiny child has never been proven as an effective combination.

And I started to panic.

What else could I do? Be over the moon that I was suddenly being handed a small boy to look after and we'd get on perfectly and it was only nine weeks, _nine weeks_ , practically ten, practically a quarter of a year, nine or ten weeks of my life (however nonexistent it was) was going to be wasted in taking care of a spoiled brat.

Perhaps I could sneak one drink, just the one─

Oh god, this was going to be absolute hell, this was more of a hell than I was already in, torture (well deserved but that's beside the point). Was this some small scrap of karma? Did it even matter to find it some sort of reasoning?

I had spent the whole day trying to put the task in the back of my mind even while I prepared for it and I still wasn't sure I had everything. I did not own toys, games, anything of the sort. Why hadn't I bought any of that while I was out?

I was pacing the sitting room, biting at my thumb nervously. Muggle living, muggle clothes, I was accepting of but a small gremlin running around everywhere and getting into things and crying every few moments and stomping their feet and whining? I would go mad; I was going to go mad before the summer was over. I would die; I most definitely was going to die.

I wouldn't stand for disobedience, that was one thing I knew for certain and I would not hesitate to put my foot down, to teach the child proper discipline, manners, respect.

Yes, I was the one in control here, not the child, I just had to keep repeating that to myself like a righteous mantra and I would do an exemplary job. A four year old was not stronger nor smarter than me, I had the upper hand and I was a sharpened expert at gaining others attention and having strict order and being flawlessly organized no matter the nights where I became utterly inebriated and talked to myself and to books and threw things around and practiced Feng Shui though in reality I would somehow wind up moving my sofa into my kitchen and my bed in the sitting room and many other variations of oddly positioned furniture and it was deplorable behavior but it was just who I was, and at least I did it in private though I did have many black out nights that could be up for debate.

And at exactly one in the afternoon there was a knock on my door and my heart sank to my arse and my mind was wiped clean of all logical thought, though perhaps it had already been the moment I heard Dumbledore's words:

"Severus, I need you to take care of Harry Potter for the summer."

I tried to breathe but it was getting wedged in places and the floor felt like sand when I walked across the short space into the entry hall and I could see Dumbledore's form through the stained-glass window and my deadened arm reached up and it felt like a stranger's hand that took hold of the door handle and I was opening it and the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was standing outside in a vibrant muggle suit that didn't match his green dress shoes and he carried an old satchel of sorts as well as a small blue suitcase.

Those eyes were beaming behind those half-moon spectacles and he was giving me such a hospitable smile and the summer day was blaring outside, the crooked street much livelier than usual, cars parking and children skipping rope and shouting with glee. Only the old coot was in view for I did not move closer, I couldn't.

"Severus, my young man," Dumbledore greeted and the sound of his voice was much higher. "It's a pleasure to see you. And here we have..." the old wizard posing as a very flamboyant muggle with ghastly fashion sense had turned to his left, bending down somewhat. "Come now dear Harry, there's no reason to be shy; you're a very polite boy, aren't you? Introduce yourself."

I hate children, I do, abominably so, I hate their laughter, their snot filled noses, their persistently sticky hands, their god awful tantrums, their drunken-like appearances, their stunted speech, their inability to control the volume of their voices, their cheek, their teeth missing grins, their rosy faces, their overly imaginative brains, their lack of situational awareness, their piss poor immune systems, their clumsy hand eye coordination, their crybaby attitudes, the fishbowl worlds they lived in, I hated it all with every inch, every fiber, ever cell of my being.

And despite all of that, despite everything, the little timid thing that shuffled into view to stand outside my front door was the most adorable child I had ever fucking seen in my entire miserable life.

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A/N: Ok, I hope this was enjoyable. The next chapter will probably be up in a few weeks since I am finishing other chapters of my 2 other stories and it has been forever, literally, since I have updated those but they are almost finished.

Let me know if you look forward to reading more of this story please. This is my opinion of how a younger Severus would be before the start of Harry's school years at Hogwarts. He's very sarcastic, grieving but not showing it, self-loathing, short tempered, cold hearted, vindictive, a dark sense of humor and very tired of life already.

*The image used is one I have made myself though I wished it turned out better but I will probably redo it when I have more time.

Please review if you have the time. Thank you for your support : )

Questions, comments, concerns, complaints? Don't hesitate to PM me.

I apologize for any errors I may have missed.

I hope everyone is well.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi there. I just want to thank everyone for reading and their supportive reviews, it means a lot to me. I sort of have a better idea of where I am going with this story. Anyway on with the story:

 **I do not own Harry Potter. Such rights go to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.**

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 **Chapter One: Hermit Crabs are not Afraid of the Dark**

June 25th 1984 Monday

He reminded me of a weak fuzzy dandelion rooted all alone in an empty field.

I _know_ , it was a very odd comparison but I couldn't help it.

You see, because I knew he existed, I did, I knew everyone called him _The Boy Who Lived_ , but I never truly imagined him as an actual living being, a physical reminder of my guilt, my regret, my sins breathing and walking around and not having parents to treasure him...

I had helped immensely to ruin his life.

So I thought, I _believed_ , with great generosity, that once I saw him again, much, much later than that fateful, horrific night, that he'd ruin me as well; with one look I'd be utterly destroyed.

But I was quite wrong. I didn't understand how that could be anywhere near possible.

And yet, in this moment, this ridiculous, irrational, reckless moment I forgot everything about myself. I didn't matter.

Yes, for one brief, flickering, frail moment, I was free from it.

Every single detail about him was on a quiet display for me to observe, to take in and be utterly flummoxed by it.

His dark brown hair was quite poofy as if it was constantly floating upwards and I suppose this feature assisted my earlier comparison to a dandelion. For a boy, it definitely needed a trim. His eyes were bothered with fumbling apprehension and concentrating so hard at the ground and his small hands were wringing the bottom of his blue oversized frumpy school jumper that had badly sewn patches over the elbows and the collar of his button up underneath was quite worn-out. Well, all of his uniform attire looked quite worn out. His short navy trousers must have been a much darker color at some point as were his knee high socks that were drooping and the laces on his faded scuffed little boots were frayed and coming untied.

I hadn't expected him to be so small and he was trembling from head to toe and the tops of his ears were almost cherry red despite his pale skin.

But suddenly his thin shoulders grew stiff and I could see him take in a deep breath before raising his fuzzy head so that he could greet my intensive perplexed gaze.

Big green eyes so extraordinarily bright were full to the brim with mustered, enamored confidence heaving along such powerful deliberation held strictly in his brow. He was standing so straight like a soldier and he stuck out his entire arm at me, each of his tiny fingers spread wide in a fast offering.

" _Hello!_ " the boy let out breathlessly and sincerely as that flush of color rose tremendously in his cheeks. "My name is Harry Potter! It's a real pleasure meeting you, Sir!" His voice was so high in pitch though it felt delicate and clumsily fearful to my ears.

"Such charisma! That was a fine introduction, my dear Harry, wasn't it Severus?" Albus Dumbledore's praising voice broke through my bewildered senses only momentarily and I was almost startled because I had forgotten he was here and standing right next to the child.

"Now it's your turn, Severus," Dumbledore continued but his encouraging proposal was lost somewhere in the background noise as all I could remain doing was staring down at the young being before me and nothing was clicking, these clear distinctions just weren't translating at all to my understanding, to my absolute expectations.

"Shake Harry's hand, Severus," the old coot persevered and the boy was waiting in a tightly held patience but there was trepidation building in his waning smile as his fingertips had begun to quiver ever so slightly.

It couldn't be true. There was no way this was James Potter's son. It didn't matter if the boy was wearing those large round spectacles, it _wasn't_ true.

The boy was far too...just _too_...adorable _._ It was completely futile to try to stop myself from thinking of the adjective again. Yes, of course he was also the son of the late Lily Evans-Potter. And yes, she had been beautifully attractive, it's not like I can deny it seeing as how I had loved her for so long and the boy's eyes _would_ resemble hers exactly when he was older, probably, but the child's features now were much too...soft? Is that the word I was looking for? Innocent? Yes, that was better, mostly.

" _Severus_...shake his hand," the Headmaster's command was ebbing towards surprising assertiveness but I couldn't listen to it, I couldn't comprehend anything.

I didn't get it. He was almost a five-year-old boy but he was just too _small_ , too timid, too _different_ , a mouse─

I couldn't stop comparing the child to fragile things, I couldn't.

Because Potter and Lily were...they were...they were...

Well, they were _strong_ , damn it! They weren't dandelions they were... _trees_ , they were damn redwoods for god's sake, determined, stubborn, willful like a rampant storm; why the hell was I comparing people to fucking nature!?

But still, _still_ , they couldn't have had a child like this, a child that I couldn't find a trace of─that hadn't been given an ounce of─

It was too cruel; this was a different sort of ruining, of torture, of destruction; this wasn't fair.

I couldn't let this get to me, I couldn't let him, not at the very start...

But what the hell could I do?

"Are you...are you quite sure this is him?" my numb lips were making the words out before I could impede them with common sense.

"Severus, please _assure_ me that you haven't been indulging in your usual hobbies right before this highly important occasion," Dumbledore was whispering to me.

"I haven't!" I hissed, finally feeling my spine again.

"Then be so kind to shake Harry's hand," the old man said clearly.

"Um...I..." I knew I was glaring at him, I knew that and it was making the child look all the more afraid but he didn't hide himself behind the Headmaster, he didn't lower his hand however much it shook. I needed to get myself together here; I needed to be an adult, this was happening, I had no other choice.

But how was I supposed to know the sight of such a child would make me feel so...so unlike myself? I mean, it had been a very long time since I had felt anything really, anything more than decrepit misery, feigning existence, plopping down everywhere I was needed, feeling the hankered guilt so heavy in my bones it was all I was, sloppy bitterness suffocating in my limbs. I was forever bound to this rotten grief; I knew that, I _knew_ that, I deserved it, I was despicable, some vile, diseased, ugly dog. It was ok if I was alone; it was ok to suffer this way.

I wasn't allowed reprieve.

I didn't want to feel like I deserved anything good.

I wouldn't let myself be overrun.

I had to hold my breath when I reached my hand out to take hold of his. I shook it gently and it was too little, too warm, too alive.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," I forced. "Welcome to my home."

As soon as my hand relinquished the hold the boy's own retreated away, grabbing tight to the end of his jumper once more.

"It was Harry's last day of Reception, wasn't it my dear boy?" Dumbledore voiced cheerfully.

"Yes!" the child answered as he gave a strong nod.

"Right..." was all I could respond with.

"Now, let's get Harry situated before I take my leave, Severus," the Headmaster said all too joyfully as he began to push the child forward and I quickly stepped aside as they made their way into my old home. The boy took short, hurried but unsure steps and I could see his eyes wandering everywhere though his head was tilted down as if determined to stay that way.

"Shall I make us some tea?" I asked and the words, in the order in which they left my mouth, sounded foreign, almost fake, because such a phrase has hardly ever come from me and was that depressing to realize? Perhaps but depressing things were routine for me, it's where I get most of my humor.

"Oh, no, Harry and I have already had our tea," Professor Dumbledore stated as he directed the child to sit on the sofa, placing the suitcase and satchel down next to the boy. "We had the pleasure of enjoying some delicious treacle tart at a café, didn't we Harry?" The boy nodded as he lifted himself to sit on the dark gray sofa and of course his feet were far from touching the floor and I couldn't stop thinking about how small he was. Why did I have to look after something so damn small? Forget myself dying, how was I not going to lose him in places? How does one not break something so fucking fragile? Not someone like me, that was absolutely a true statement because I was a harsh person, remember? Cruel and thorny and not capable of portraying myself to be anything like those actors in children's teli; the ones who wore costume make up or colorful dinosaur outfits and sang happy songs and had the children dancing with the chorus in some sort of cult-like worshiper way.

No, I was not prepared, physically or mentally, for this chore.

But before I could even think of attempting to get myself out of it once more I noticed the old wizard was absorbed in the activity in checking the validity of my childhood home.

"There's nothing covering the fireplace," Dumbledore noted.

"And?" I said gruffly.

"It isn't safe," the old man clarified.

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes again though could do nothing to keep them from leering at the practically senile Headmaster.

"The boy is not a babbling toddler, I am quite sure he knows the purpose of a fireplace," I voiced quickly and my jaw was tensing again.

"It's just precaution," Dumbledore leant.

I was growing more annoyed as the old man walked about the room, looking at things and judging them in his overrun mind. Just because I was very unsure of how to take care of a child didn't mean I needed to be treated like it.

I clenched my teeth as Dumbledore continued his thorough inspection, going off his mental checklist and prepared to give me my rating on the scale of 1 for being a complete death trap to 5 being that nothing freakishly horrific could happen to the tiny living thing that was still sat on my couch staring at the undone laces of his left shoe.

"Please do something about that garden, or rather the band of overgrown weeds that have possessed the entirety of it," Dumbledore was saying as he returned from my kitchen to the sitting room but I was too busy unknowingly staring too long at the child as he was now finding the task of tying his shoe terribly difficult to manage on his own.

And there was a flutter, yes, a fucking flutter, in my chest and I stopped it before it could venture up into my throat.

Ballocks.

"I suppose this will do," the Headmaster said with a happy finality. "I apologize that I must take my leave so soon but you know, I am busy man, quite versatile, needed everywhere."

 _Your knitting club, perhaps? Or one of your disorderly get-togethers with your old schoolmates. Versatile indeed._

I tried to fake a smile but it formed into a weak glower accompanied by a sort of _hmm_ noise caught in my throat. The panic was squirming again and I wanted to shout at the old man and the radical colors of his muggle attire. It was on purpose of course, he enjoyed dressing up and the stares he would get; he just loved it when people would discount his credibility no matter how many textbooks he was in as well his collectible cards that came with Chocolate Frogs. I'm sure he kept the mood within the Wizengamot quite lively, if not understandably on edge.

"Harry, I'll be leaving you in Severus's charge now; I'm sure you two will get along wonderfully," Professor Dumbledore said before patting the child on his head and I watched the boy's ears draw out that cherry tomato color and his hands tightly take hold of his jumper. "I'll be back to check on you two in a couple of weeks. Until then, have fun, it is summer after all."

I half rolled my eyes before clearing my throat and following the Headmaster to the front door, taking an enormous effort to not meet the child's eyes as he watched us.

"Now remember the rules, Severus," Dumbledore was whispering and the sunlight was coming through the door's window and making a sharp glare over the old man's half-moon spectacles, something I always detested for whatever reason. "Especially the _main_ rule. No use of you-know-what−"

"Yes, I understand now stop dawdling and let me get on with this ridiculous... _babysitting_ ," I hissed lowly so only the man could hear. "And if I do have to be troubled with the responsibility of contacting you _please_ give me the curtesy that you unquestionably owe me and do not make it a trying task."

"Oh, Severus, I hardly think there will be a problem, all I need is a simple letter here and there," Dumbledore spoke with that maddening smile.

"Yes, but you see, every time something is not supposed to implicate problems in regards to your orders, it always _does_ ," I seethed as much as I could in my whispering tone but it proved difficult to not reach a level that the boy could pick up.

"Does it?"

"Undeniably."

"Perhaps, my dear young man, you really shouldn't treat this as one of your duties that I have given you," Albus Dumbledore said with that concentrating look as if he really were trying admirably to mold the words into my shriveled soul. I wanted to shudder or gag or both. "There is always room for growth." A nasty taste came over my tongue. "You have much more to offer than what you believe is there. No matter what you feel, you do have the choice−"

"Have a good evening, Headmaster," I cut the conversation with my sharpened tone that I had perfected so early in age. I knew I was at the "moment" where this would become an existing reality and no matter how much I wanted to prolong the beginning of it I knew it would do me no such good and no part of me desired to hear Dumbledore's seasoned words of bullshite−I meant _reason_.

"You as well, Severus," the old Professor replied gaily. "Goodbye, Harry." Dumbledore gave the child a wave, his fingers waggling and the few silver rings looking heavy on them.

I didn't look back at the boy as the old man opened my door and walked out. I shut it the best I could without slamming it before locking it and trying to let the breath I had been holding go, my neck feeling like there was a burning kink in it.

But it would be strange if I didn't act like a "normal person" so I did turn around and was met with the boy standing beside the couch, his right hand over the cushioned arm and his shoelace remained undone and I could see the green plaster over his left knee though the scrape was still visible.

Yet the awkward silence still followed no matter how easy it seemed to just form words with my mouth and say the damn things and all the boy did was gape at the floor. In some sense, besides my corpse of a garden, I could say the house no longer looked decrepit or eerie because of the work I had done or rather my wand had done to fix it up as well as the new furniture and the simple addition that there wasn't dirt or spider webs or a disgusting buildup of grime on every surface and I was sure that the old, tattered things that used to occupy the place and damaged walls and broken doors would have given the earlier appearance that the house was haunted and would have certainly frightened the child.

But despite the renovations and all the newly bought objects the house was still my childhood home and the memories were quite fresh no matter how much they shouldn't have been but I let them fester anyway and the rooms still served their same purposes and I was sure the same spots would creak and in the dark the feelings of the house would remain identical. Even with magic there was no way to hide such stains. Dumbledore was wrong. I could only continue on with who I was. These were the consequences of my choices. I deserved to live with them until...until I was no longer of use I suppose.

I didn't know if there would be a day where I no longer believed I deserved this.

It couldn't exist.

That was finite in this perplex universe. Though nothing in my life had ever been too complicated. I was a greedy fool who never knew how to appreciate anything.

"I'll show you to the room you will be…occupying for…the summer," I managed as I somehow made my legs walk over to the child.

And it was too strange at how I towered over him and I couldn't stop myself from wondering if there was ever a time where I had been that small and of course there had been I was just being an idiot at the moment but I still felt too tall and I knew four-year-old children who were practically five did not come in this size, they just _didn't_.

 _Can you shut up about his height? Some children just take a while longer to reach their growth spurts, you know this you utter imbecile now cease your mindless gawping at his big eyes and fluffy head and show him your old bedroom!_

"Come," I forced as my mind ventured to shout further insults at me.

Before I could think of being polite and grabbing up his things the child hurried to gather his suitcase and satchel and proceeded to step on his undone lace and completely face plant himself onto the hardwood floor before my feet, his belongings flinging by my legs and landing with a loud clatter.

And I could do nothing but watch the whole ordeal unfold; no such parental instincts were born in my body as Potter picked himself up from his sprawled position. And that's all I could address him by. He was just Potter or boy or child and I couldn't ask if he had injured himself or even question his welfare after such a harsh tumble.

But he got to his feet, rather flushed in the face with a reddening chin. I expected lots of crying to follow though none came. He brushed off his clothes and pushed up his glasses that had gone wildly askew. I would have been majorly relieved that they weren't broken if I hadn't discovered that they were already broken, a thick wrapping of scotch tape holding the frames together right in the middle making them look quite ghastly. It hardly mattered however, how awful looking and bulky his glasses were because those big and nature bright green eyes were looking up at me and I could scarcely pay attention to the small crack in the right lenses or the bent temples.

I had no idea why I was so absorbed by them, why I was even capable of thinking the words _adorable_ and _tiny_ and _innocent_ and damn it, why did I have to do this? Why did this child make me feel this _fucking_ flutter in my chest, what did it mean? I shouldn't be susceptible to flutters, to any kind of uncontrollable desire to replay the child's utter clumsiness he had just shown me. Was he accident prone?

Lily had never been like that, she had grace and that toe rag Potter had always strived to look so cool, especially in front of packs of giggling girls. Clumsiness was not a gene to be inherited, I knew that, but I just needed an explanation for all this, for this tiny being that all it had managed to do so far was render me almost speechless and practically immobile and entirely senseless. The astute Severus Snape had vanished and whoever remained in his stead was doomed.

The boy once again hurried to collect his things and all I could do was lead the way up the staircase. I heard his quick footsteps and couldn't stop myself from looking behind me to watch how his eyes didn't leave the steps as he clambered up them, fearful of tramping over his laces again.

 _I should tie it. A proper parent would tie the shoe…Fuck, I'm not a damn parent!...A decent person would help the child and tie the shoe. I don't consider myself a decent person…_

 _Do I want him to fall down the stairs to his death though? No. Obviously. So tie the fucking shoe, Severus Snape, if you don't the boy_ will _die._

I was going insane, and if not that's all that could really come of this, honestly.

My old bedroom was the second door on the right, the first being the restroom. My room was across from it and there was a door at the end of the hall that was spelled to be locked. It was my "Wizard's Space" though I doubted I would be able to get any sort of potion brewing done this summer. There was also a study to the right of the stairs, merely extra space for more books to wind up.

I opened the bedroom door and there were no curtains hung from the big window of the far wall so the sunlight was free to plunge itself in the empty room. It looked quite plain. I had merely used spells on the full-sized bed to puff up the mattress and bought sheets and a thick comforter and a few pillows. There was a small chest of drawers, a full wardrobe and a bedside table with a lamp and that was it besides the pale blue paint on the wall that I had added another coat to because it desperately needed it.

"This is the room, you can put your belongings away in here," I said as stiff as the boy was standing behind me, rigidly so as he kept his suitcase and satchel close to his body, his eyes barely looking up to register anything inside it. "I will advise you to never enter any room up here but this one and the restroom without my permission. Is that understood?"

The boy only nodded though I had expected a more good-mannered answer. So just because Dumbledore had left the boy had become tight-lipped. And that was the thing about this house now, it was much too quiet, like a graveyard, left for the ghosts and the chill to settle in; there were breathing bodies in it now but that didn't make the house feel at all lively and despite the heat outside there was a constant draft that would come and go as it pleased.

I stared at the top of the child's head and felt the gnawing sense of anxiety building in my chest, felt a pressuring weight on my shoulders and an ache beginning to huddle in my skull. Before I could protest I was already leaning down on one knee and without a word my hands were on those frayed laces and I tied them tight before quickly standing up. The boy only stared down at his shoe before taking a step back and I realized he was getting out of my path.

"You can busy yourself with something in here," I voiced with numbing lips but my fingertips were buzzing. He was skinny, I knew that, and I didn't fully understand why. Plenty of children were finicky eaters but under my roof I would make sure the boy ate all that was on his plate, no complaints. I had yet to go over all the rules I had for the boy, perhaps I would wait till dinner. Dinner…Shite, I had forgotten about dinner.

"Dinner will be ready at five thirty," I said. I knew it was a tad early but I also figured children usually got to bed much earlier than an adult who craved too much alcohol and indulged too deeply in self-hatred.

And I left him to his own means and went back downstairs to possibly find a cookbook I may or may not have owned somewhere in this creepily depressing abandoned house. I managed to find it wedged between _Your Inner Charm: How Charisma Makes a Great Leader_ (I have no idea how that got there) and _Brilliant Fungi and Where to Find It_ (unquestionably useful)…I might have a habit of visiting too many secondhand book stores…

The book was titled _The Easy Guide for the Rubbish Cook_.

It was exactly what I needed since I was absolute shite at cooking. Yes, I was quite extraordinary with Potions give or take the occasional explosive mishap that was perfectly normal when one tends to experiment with _risky_ ingredients but brilliance takes sacrifice and a few cauldron fires or poisonous gas clouds didn't scare me off discovering that brilliance.

Cooking, well, it just never intrigued me. Food was never something that taunted any indulgence from me and I usually never had to cook for myself because House Elves existed and if I could utilize that valuable time doing something productive then I would much rather prefer that. My hands were trained for brewing not baking or sautéing or whatever technique the chefs on those cooking channels flourished with, projecting that nauseating energy.

I had stamina, I just chose to save it up for other more important things. I decided a basic roast dinner shouldn't prove too arduous of a task.

A practically massacred cast iron skillet, mushy brussel sprouts, runny mashed potatoes and burnt, flat Yorkshire puddings three hours later and I was ready to chuck the entire stove out into my cemetery of a garden.

"I could have made fucking cheese on toast but I had to choose a bloody roast dinner!" I said through gritted teeth, wringing a dishtowel. "I don't need to impress the runt−Christ!" I had pivoted on my heel and was startled by the sight of the boy standing in the middle of my kitchen staring at me. I hadn't even heard him come down the stairs and they never once _not_ creaked, I was confident about that. It also came to mind that I hadn't heard him upstairs at all, not one peep.

"How long have you been standing there?" I said with tension in my voice that I couldn't calm.

But the boy persisted with his silence.

"You were so presidential before, what happened?" I asked with annoyance. I _was_ annoyed because I had to babysit this child who was too damn adorable for his own good who was also the son of my horrid school bully but was also the son of the love of my life who I had gotten killed and who was all of a sudden rendered spectacularly mute and I had ruined our dinner and I couldn't use magic around this small very living and very real and very susceptible to injuries sort of child even though he was going to grow up to be a wizard anyway and was infamously known in the wizarding world since he was age one and there was this infuriating itch in the middle of my back that I couldn't reach and should have taken care of long ago before the boy was present in the same room as me and my life was still as miserable as hell…

"Do you need the toilet?" I questioned and I desperately hoped the boy was trained in that area of child development. I knew he didn't need a nappy but the counters in the restroom were high, I would need to find a step stool…

The boy shook his head and retreated his eyes to the floor. I realized the boy was probably hungry by now and simply coming down at the time I had said earlier. I suppressed a sigh.

"Go sit at the table then," I said, failing badly at suppressing my irritation.

All I could do was serve what I had, overcooked food was better than undercooked food, right? Right.

In the house's terrible quiet I plated the meals and set out the utensils with napkins. With all the willpower in my body I refrained from pouring a glass of anything that would definitely take my growing migraine away. The bottles were in the higher cabinets, unreachable to curious hands.

I opted for orange juice. The food looked far more unattractive on the plates than in the dishes they had been made in. I knew the beef was incredibly dry and the gravy too watery even if I had used an instant packet. I wouldn't blame the boy if he snuffed his nose at it since I honestly had no desire to bring any of it toward my mouth.

But without any sort of protest the child had picked up his knife and fork and began to eat with more enthusiasm than I expected and there was no part of me that expected the uninhibited delight that surfaced in his body and I wasn't prepared for his smile, the first smile I had gotten from him. Of course he wasn't _giving_ it to me, I knew that, but it still existed in this moment, in this rotten house concealed by new furniture and refurbishing spells. Because there were never any smiles in this house, no such delight or pure forms of happiness or gratefulness and we were here, together, sitting at my short dining table and his thin shoulders barely reached the edge of it.

I didn't want to feel anything between us because there wasn't an _us_ because their couldn't be anything but distance between the boy and I and yet even if I hardly felt a damn thing anymore these days there was warmth in me, fighting the callousness, fending off the icy barbs, kindling against the torrents.

And I knew, with dread stiffening in my spine, that I had taken this away from her, stole it from her before she even had the chance to dream of it. She was a mother, a good mother, what else could she have been? Her heart was pure, was profoundly good all the way to the bottom.

I ruined her life. Everything.

I didn't belong here, with the living. Not in this child's presence. I was insufferable. I never learned my lesson. I didn't know how to bring any sort of good to the world. I didn't matter within it and a long time ago I believed I was _supposed_ to matter.

All it took was one smile for me to disregard any purpose I might have held or planned to in the future. I didn't know who I was at all.

I didn't taste any of the small bites I took from my plate as the clock on the wall filled the space with its ticking, resonating like a harsh pulse and the pressure in my skull worsened and this created a lack of diligence which almost caused me to whip my wand out in habit of spelling the dishes to wash themselves.

"It's just one summer…" I muttered to myself to relieve my growing aggravation which only perked up the boy's attention and his eyes rested on me as if expecting me to say more to him even though he hadn't offered a word to me.

"I am sure you're aware of the duration of your time here," I clarified because he kept staring. "You are only here for one summer… _boy_." I hadn't the foggiest idea why I had called him "boy" with emphasis and not Mr. Potter like I had christened him earlier.

But his smile was gone just like all the food on his plate. The food was disgusting, how did he manage to eat everything without gagging? And all the while looking pleased? I hated brown nosing, even from my Slytherins though at first I must admit I took too much from it. I was heavily guilty of playing favorites.

I knew I held an intimidating aura about me but the child had been so courageous the first time he met me and I was beginning to worry about him not speaking or giving me any sort of response when I asked for it and I wanted to fault him on his lack of respect but he was not my student, _yet_. And he was also four and in a gloomy house with a tall lanky man with dark eyes and black hair and a permanent grimace who some people believed to be a vampire. I had to be understanding no matter how absurd I thought that was. I wasn't _understanding_ because I didn't _care_ about anything. I had never practiced such empathy before so what use was it to start now?

However, I was surprised to discover my patience was still with me, I could deal with this for now, I could schlep through it, if I just kept counting to ten, if I could sneak a shot here or there throughout the day, if I could avoid those big eyes, I could get through it alive and possibly in the number of pieces I was already in.

I told the child to head to bed which he obeyed and amazingly enough I myself turned in without too much protest from my body. I felt exhausted for one thing and couldn't even remember how I managed to change into sleeping pants and a regular t-shirt but I woke up the next morning feeling horribly groggy as if I had drowned myself in a quart of gin and gin sounded so lovely now as my entire body had somehow huddled under the duvet and the secret parenting book was poking the end of my spine.

I sat up slowly knowing my hair probably looked like a tirade of tangled waves. My body ached and my migraine was worse as the morning sunshine muddled my eyes through every gap it escaped through from the outside world into this decrepit house hidden under its new laidback guise. I was miserable. I could feel the unquenchable thirst festering in my throat and over my tongue. I would have to drink a pool of water before it could ever go away.

It was surprising however of how quickly I remembered that there was a weak looking thing cohabitating with me within these walls. The nightmare would persevere. I yawned and managed to stretch and scratch at places that needed it before finding my way to the restroom. It took a few moments as I washed my face and tried to fix my hair the best I cared enough to before I noticed the small light green toothbrush settled next to my own.

I grimaced at how used it looked however, the bristles so worn. Trying not to take note of it I brushed my teeth and perhaps it was the smell of the minty paste that woke up my senses because I smelled something just as distinct and extremely uncommon in my old home. It was the smell of cooking bacon.

I spat in the sink before hurrying noisily down the stairs, through the sitting room and into the kitchen where, to my disbelief, I was met with the sight of the boy in front of the stove, a stove that was on, a stove that had _fire erupting_ (over exaggeration on my part) from its burners. A too small for a four-year-old child was much too close to unshielded fire−and I couldn't tell if it was boiling anger or bewildered fear that had me shouting next:

"What the bloody hell are you doing!?"

The child winced badly in reaction, almost dropping the metal spatula he held that was scooping up the sizzling strips and then those big eyes were on me and filled with a mountain of worry.

Many seconds had to pass for me to be able to take in the rest of the scene. The boy had somehow found an old wooden step stool in order to reach the gas stove and utensils and plates and everything else that was used to make the American pancakes that were placed neatly next to fried eggs and sausages.

I expected a mess, I really did, perhaps a plume of smoke though nothing like that was correct of my roundabout and restless imagination. All the dishes that were used were already in the sink and the counters remained spotless and, if I had to confess, albeit shinier than I had left them last night with my cleaning spells.

It felt all too preposterous that this small being had woken up so early because it was only 7:30 in the morning and somehow managed to lift such heavy pans and work the stove without needing instructions and cook, judging by the irrefutable evidence and delectable scent of the plated meals, a breakfast that any trained housewife could manage with her eyes closed.

But still, it didn't seem possible no matter how it appeared to be unquestionably real. I was not dreaming within this continued nightmare, no, Potter really was placing the bacon on the plates carefully because, as the result of my previously overly loud response, his hands were shaking.

He had already turned off the burner and was stepping down from the stool where his eyes met the kitchen floor and his hands began to wring the bottom of his school dress shirt and as a speedy side note I realized he was still wearing his uniform ex the patched jumper and he only wore his droopy socks (probably to refrain from dealing with knotting his laces) and his hair was in even more of a disarray and despite the abundance of it looked like it could be blown away by a strong gust of wind…

But no, he was not a trained meddlesome housewife, no, he was not a _fucking_ lonely dandelion, he was a damningly adorable (I needed to cease any existing relations with that atrociously gushy word) runt of a four-year-old! He wasn't supposed to clean and cook better than what I could ensure! What was going on?

But at least he hadn't killed himself doing it, right? I was not met with the sight of a child caught ablaze so it was a good thing, I could breathe now, I could let the anger go and I did or it mostly just stuffed itself in my chest and began to spasm as the rest of my body still ached and the thirst persisted.

"Do you usually make breakfast?" I had to ask because I didn't want the awkwardness between us to be born again. I had already shouted at him though I could protest that it was indeed warranted. It wasn't normal for children to cook at such a young age, at least, it wasn't expected. Anything could have gone wrong..

The boy nodded albeit reluctantly. No verbal response. I wanted to bite my tongue as another rush of annoyance strangled my jaw.

"How usually?" I said lowly. I had somehow halfway reverted to Professor mode using my well known and well feared disciplinary voice.

But the child kept quiet and the aggravation took over me no matter how much I knew I should have gotten a better hold of it. I wanted a drink, I knew that, I could feel the need trembling in my limbs.

"You will look at me when I am speaking to you, boy," and my voice had taken its strict authoritarian tone to the fullest and it had never failed to strike and cause Hufflepuff First Years to break into a bout of uncontrollable sniveling. Nevertheless, the child's eyes rose up to connect with mine and I should have felt ashamed when I noticed his quivering shoulders but he kept the fear out of his face, the apprehension slightly peeking through.

"How _usually_?" I asked.

And the boy had the nerve to remain silent. There was a strong heat behind my eyes because of the pain in my head that grew ever the more worse. I was aggravated with this boy's unresponsiveness. It was completely disrespectful.

"You will also answer me using audible communication when I ask you a question," I said much too cuttingly than I would have liked. I knew I had a temper and of course it would be more unreasonable without the influence of alcohol which may sound impossible but the effects of it did keep the anger at bay for me, kept me quite docile with more fluid of motions, had me talking to myself and old pictures and pushing around furniture…

"Not dinner parties…" the boy mumbled at last.

"What, you're not an expert at making beef wellington?" It was a joke, obviously and I would have continued my tirade had the boy not screwed up his face in genuine confusion and just the sight of that rose hue taking over the boy's cheeks caused all my irritation to flee from my body through every which way it could escape without any consent from me. Was I really so susceptible to his various expressions? I really was doomed.

"I…I get nervous around strangers…" the boy muttered as his eyes dropped to his feet instantly.

I stared at his feet as well, how small they were and how wilted his socks looked. Perhaps here I was ignoring all the signs, perhaps here I was just trying to get through the first 24 hours without running somewhere far away but even so I knew there was something odd about the statement, something wrong, unnatural, like it wasn't his idea, like it wasn't how he truly felt…

"I suppose we should eat before it gets cold," I said monotonously because my eyes were stuck on the rising and falling of his chest, how it had sped up, how harshly he held to the end of his wrinkled shirt.

In the next minute we were seated and there was no way I could deny the deliciousness of the meal and I was in a daze because I couldn't comprehend how he had taken such care with it. I hadn't bought a box of pancake mix and no matter if it was quite an easy recipe to keep in one's memory, he was four, he acted dreadfully clumsy…and yet "usually" meant often and a four-year-old knew what "often" meant since it was so close to "always" or "all the time". This was a habitual characteristic. This was practiced and perfected. But for how long? Perhaps I should have asked that instead.

And there was something else that dawned on me no matter how strongly I was against to learning anything about this child. I could remember it, though it was faint, before I had barged into the kitchen I had heard something, something that was never heard in this old, depressing house. I heard a song. Or rather, the humming of a song.

I could only pause my fork and knife as I put great effort in attempt to replay the memory but my obnoxious footsteps during that time had ruined it and I couldn't recall what it had truly sounded like. There was no way I would have imagined it, not a person like me.

The boy had been humming. And I had interrupted it, like some fowl, stubborn beast. But no matter my harsh intrusion I knew it had sounded so gentle, so _happy_.

And he was eating with that fervor again, his utensils held bunglingly, strawberry jam and maple syrup sticking at the corners of his mouth. I could have been in awe of his atrocious table manners if I hadn't already been in awe of just how perfectly round he managed to get the hotcake. The golden brown was so appealing to look at and the crunch to the bacon would have had the House elves of Hogwarts complementing the child, he would fit right in−

"Why are you still in your school uniform?" I questioned to put a stop to my absurd train of thought.

All the boy did was look down at his plate as his face heated up. I didn't push the subject, I was too tired to.

"Busy yourself outside while I clean up," I said it like an order even though I tried to make it sound casual. I was not good at casual.

The child hesitated and his eyes glanced quickly to the kitchen before he hurried away to retrieve his shoes. I winced at the scene of him hopping down the steps with both shoes held in opposite hands, and I gritted my teeth because the blasted fluttering was back and appalling words like "adorable" and"rabbit" and "do I own a camera" flounced themselves through my brain despite my stern vulgarity and hardened exterior.

I needed control of this, it was driving me insane way sooner than I thought it would.

I opened the glass door for him since he had fiddled with the latch too long. Even though I hated to I did the dishes by hand though I noticed they had been rinsed already. I sighed heavily as I placed the last skillet on the dishrack to dry. I wiped down the table and went upstairs to change into more muggle attire (a dress shirt and slacks and I said to shite with shoes), after which I ventured to see if the boy had made his bed and it was then that I observed a couple things that were out of place.

One, I noticed that the boy's suitcase was empty but nothing was really in the room and two, the comforter and a pillow was missing from the bed which I found made up in the wardrobe.

Curious indeed. Why did this boy have to be so…well, strange? Here I was trying to keep things looking as normal as possible and here the boy was constantly proving me wrong by doing things far from what I thought would be normal or obtusely against my expectations.

I really wanted that gin.

And if everything else wasn't already backwards about the child I found him weeding the deceased garden.

"For Merlin's sake…" I hissed under my breath as the boy ran up to the glass door, his hands and flushed face filthy.

"Don't wipe them on your clothes," I said strictly as I slid aside the door while he was looking troublingly at his hands.

The boy toed off his shoes before hurrying passed me to the climb the step stool and reach the sink where he promptly washed up.

 _What are you?_ I couldn't help but think. What sort of child weeds a garden voluntarily? What sort… Yes, no matter how much my brain told my instincts to just ignore it all it was of no use.

His guardians considered him a nuisance.

I knew the feeling.

My heart felt pulverized and shrunken more than usual.

Because it came too soon, this revelation, this truth, I hadn't even gotten the chance to blame him for everything and now I would never get it.

A nuisance?

Perhaps it was true for me because I never wanted to do dishes, I never cooked anything, I never learned to be resourceful to my mother in any way…

A nuisance, _this_ boy?

Those muggles were blind. Oblivious. And I had every intention of becoming the same way with the child. I did. Some ugly, deceitful part of me, in all my dark, despairing depths, revenge still thrived like a mindless and hungry creature.

I had no idea what I should feel but what I was allowed to feel was quite clear.

We had ham and cheese sandwiches for lunch with chilled lemonade and of course I had managed at least that and I had some vague clue that a four-year-old needed a nap but I was too embarrassed to mention it and before I knew it we were sat in front of the teli watching a program about meerkats which Potter seemed quite enthralled by. I couldn't ignore his constant smiling.

I was anxious and I knew why and I knew that if I tried to sneak a glass it wouldn't end there. I could hold out until the child went to bed, I had that willpower, I did.

But perhaps my knee bobbing up and down was making the boy nervous because he had slowly begun to move off the sofa, slipping slowly down it until he was standing.

"Where are you going?" I asked without knowing why.

Potter hesitated before his eyes met mine and they were not filled with worry, no, not fear. It was confusion or like he was questioning me, not understanding _why_ I asked why his presence was leaving me.

And it was then that I felt as if I couldn't breathe, staring into that wildlife green; the bright color of a hillside charmed by a summer sun, as if I could hear the birds, as if there was a calm breeze in the home instead of a ghostly chill.

I never said good-bye to her. I never gave her enough of anything…

"You can stay…here…" I didn't know if it was me giving him reassurance or if I really was just letting him know it was alright to watch teli with me.

We watched the program until it was dinnertime and I found it easy enough to put fish sticks in the oven and serve them with ketchup and steamed broccoli. The boy seemed quite enthused over this meal as well.

And then it was bedtime.

"You can't sleep in the wardrobe, that is what the bed is to be used for," I said after I put our empty plates in the sink and rolled down my sleeves. "Why did you sleep in the wardrobe?"

The child was nudging the floor with a toe as his eyes were cast down again.

And that exasperated anger rose up in my body before I could stop it.

"You're not a mute, use your words!" It was a shout and it echoed and I clenched my jaw and hands as I listened to the words resonate.

I felt even worse as the child flinched but I never anticipated him to shout quickly back:

"I don't like the dark when it's big!"

And just as quickly did he cover his mouth with his hands and muttered behind them:

"I'm sorry."

I felt breathless for an unexplainable reason. There was warmth again; in my hands this time and my head was filled with how clearly I had just heard his voice and the bravery his tiny body had expressed in that moment to answer such a brute of a man who thought he had patience, who thought most days that he wasn't an addict, who thought he could deal with silence for the rest of his life…

I have always been quite selfish.

It shouldn't have mattered to me if we spoke to each other.

My life was full of too many mistakes. Too many sins.

"It's…fine…" I said much too slowly. "What…exactly do you mean about…the dark when its big?" I didn't understand of course; the weird phrasing of it, the way the child's mind worked at all.

"It's ok when the dark is small…but the dark is scary when it's a lot…" the boy clarified for me in a minute voice and the sight of the heat rising in his ears and his hair looking like he had just rubbed a balloon over it I could barely swallow down the impulse in my throat. I hated impulses.

"Perhaps…" I had to clear my throat. "Perhaps…you are not so familiar with a larger room, then."

"No…" the boy looked away and I noticed his mouth looking tight and his hands were clinging to the bottom of his shirt again. "My room isn't big…"

"Nonetheless we do not sleep in wardrobes, we sleep in beds and I am sorry to say the bed simply won't fit in the wardrobe." Well, there was a spell for such desires…No, Snape, what the hell are you thinking about? Stop thinking of nonsense, all this child has done is make you think of nonsense and children shouldn't sleep in wardrobes.

It wasn't long before I could have that gin.

"Yes, Sir," was the boy's reply and I was almost amazed by it.

"Right then, you know the way to bed, off you go," I said rigidly and without hesitation the child was on his way and without hesitation I poured myself a short glass of gin and took the bottle with me to the sitting room where I sat in front of the teli to finally unwind.

It wasn't long before it began to rain and I could hear the drops growing faster and within the next hour it was pouring rather excessively and I was nursing my third glass and paying little attention to an infomercial about a hair dryer. There was a nearby flash of lightening closely followed by a rambunctious rumbling of thunder. The gusts became disruptive in the next half hour as the storm was in full swing now and the windowpanes groaned and the other eerie noises of the aged house came alive, mostly more involuntary creaking.

It was quite ostensible that I was well acquainted with the disposition of this house during thunderstorms, even random ones in the summertime so I was void of concern.

Until the lights switched off all at once.

And of course blackouts were not a rare occurrence during such weather and when I was a child I was indifferent about them. As a more than tipsy adult I had forgotten all about the feel of this house in the pitch dark. The turbulent rain sounded as if a riot surrounded the terraced house but not even the powerful storm could drown out the maddening racket of all the creaking.

A streak of lightening made obscure shadows of things all over the room and in the corners of my eyes they gave the impression of sloped hooded figures that vanished in the murky black as rapidly as they appeared. My right hand gripped my pocketed wand reflexively as the fingers of my left applied more pressure on the empty glass. Had I really forgotten how much I hated the place in general?

I didn't want to feel uneasy but I blamed it on instinct.

My sluggish thoughts filtered enough to be reminded of the child upstairs who I hadn't checked on once. Isn't that what parents did? The sort of parents who felt quite responsible, who probably didn't prefer drinking half a bottle of gin while contemplating over and over again all the faults they had made, all the pain they had endured, letting the bitterness grow and grow, fester and fester because what else was there for me? Why not poison myself with both thoughts and drink?

Somehow I found myself on my feet. A biting shiver plummeted down my back as another assault of lightning made the grim figures expose themselves once more.

I had no such thing as an emergency drawer full of muggle items including candles and matches or a torchlight because I was a fucking wizard; everything _I_ would need in an emergency came in a fancy looking stick.

I made my way through the shadows out of memory but due to the alcohol I had consumed I miscalculated how many stairs there actually were and wound up stumbling over the landing thinking there had been one more step to take. There was another intense show of lightning bringing the terrible ruckus of something like a huge boulder tumbling down a mountain. It was louder upstairs and the bleak chill felt like it was eating at my bones.

I felt like no matter how careful I walked I was still stomping my bare feet. My legs felt as if they were encased in lead. The door of my boyhood room was cracked open. Struggling to concentrate through the heavy limpness of my gin fueled brain I pushed it open.

For a moment I could see nothing, only a sea of grainy blackness and all I could hear was relentless rain of the outside world. I felt alone. But not the sort of aloneness a person feels in a crowd of people because you're forcing yourself to live and to be useful, no, the utterly aloneness where there are no answers, where time stands still, where you feel like nothing and you're perfectly fine with that.

A slice of jagged light ruptured through the large window revealing a bed without a body lying in it. I stepped into the room as the thunder's oscillating roar stretched far into the distance. I opened the wardrobe as another swift tremor of light filled the room. It was bare. Thinking that there was a child wandering around this house in pitch darkness where numerous atrocities could occur I began to panic somewhat.

As if in a dream I wandered over to the bed and I could have believed someone was in it this time because I knew the boy should have been here and not missing and it was a bad idea to drink so much at once weakening my awareness and somehow a jumble of petrifying scenarios were spreading like fire in my mind as I was suddenly so paranoid and now attempting to quell my new found fear of the dark and nothing felt real and the cold air in the room wasn't filling my lungs and the thunder was waning in and out and sounding too familiar to a piercing scream and I could feel the floorboards turning into waves of water but I wasn't sinking into them and my body was shaking even though I could hardly feel it anymore because I was becoming this darkness or being erased into nothing, the flashes of light blaring in my numb eyes and my breathing sung in my ears, far too close and then there was spurring white hot pain, in my chest, deeply and deeper and deeper−

Something gripped my ankle.

I almost screamed, honestly. It got glued to the back of my throat as my fingernails stabbed my palms.

I looked down and my adjusted vision made out the tiny hand peeking out from underneath the bed before it released my ankle. Before I knew it I hurried down to my knees and my eyes met those behind the round zylo frames.

"Potter! What the hell are you doing under my bed!?" I hissed.

"Your bed?" the boy whispered with a raised eyebrow.

"Used to be my bed−that's not the point, why are you under this bed?"

I could see the delicate reflection in that green and the storm was playing on and this wasn't a dream, my dreams were dull or memories that left me guilty, I had nothing close to an imagination…

"I…lied…" the child said, lowering his head. I remained crouched, supporting my weight on my elbows as I aligned the rest of my body with the wooden floor.

"Lied about what?" I responded and some part of me was still wondering what the hell was I doing; in this situation and with my entire life.

"I know lying is very bad…I didn't want to lie…" the child went on and I was doing my best to follow but was merely concentrating on the adorable way he pronounced "lying" and the mere fact that he was talking to me now and I was doomed anyway so why was I trying to fight a losing battle? Just like with Dumbledore and his requests, there was no contesting it but how was I supposed to know it was going to be inevitable? I was weak.

Life was happening no matter what. I was the reason this child was an orphan.

Who could he have become with parents who cherished him?

So many things would have been so drastically changed…

"You know, Mr. Potter, lying can actually be a good thing," I said simply as the wind outside helped the old house creak. "Of course it's not good to lie constantly, however, it can get you out of many uncomfortable situations; it's fairly useful for a person with hermit-like qualities such as myself−"

"You're like a hermit crab?" the boy spoke, suddenly quite attentive and he made a cute mime with his hands to resemble the crustacean, wiggling his fingers. There was no other way to describe the boy without using such bathetic terms, it was fucking impossible, I just had to accept it.

"Yes, precisely." I didn't know how my face looked but I could feel something stir in my chest, something that wanted to take flight from my body and I battled with my mouth, refusing to let the corners turn up.

"They carry their houses with them and hide in them when they're afraid and when they get bigger they get bigger houses and small hermit crabs take their old ones, like hand-me-downs−"

"Are you endeavoring to express your desire in embracing a future career in marine biology?"

He stared at me with extreme concentration before speaking:

"Professor Dubble…Bumble… _Dumble_ dore…" he had given it such a great effort though I wouldn't have corrected him if he had said Bumbledore or Dubbledore, I would have let it go on forever, there was hardly a difference, "said you're a science professor…so you're really smart…and like…art…" I hated art- "arti…calette…articulate conversations…" Did I? Or was I just a wanker and merely accepted it.

I could let him talk forever but I could see his shivering hands.

"What did you lie about?" I asked, returning to the point.

The boy lifted his eyes and I could see the guilt in them but it was that sort of innocent guilt that was only true with children. The guilt I was feeling was worlds apart from it and right now it was weighted in my limbs and no matter how much I drank it would never leave me…

"I don't like the dark…I try to…but I don't like it…" the child confessed softly.

"You didn't hide under here because of the thunder and lightning?" I could see that our fingertips were so near to each other's on the floor and the boy's head was covered by the comforter as if he wore a hood.

"No, I like it, it's nice to listen to," the boy said and smiled. "The rain sounds nice too…but the wind sounds mad…"

I wouldn't try to grasp his insight on storms at the moment.

"It's cold under here, isn't it?" I offered.

The boy nodded.

"The bed is a lot more comfortable than the floor as well," I said as I got to my feet and heard the child crawling out from his hiding spot and clamber onto the mattress.

He was still in his uniform but for now I wouldn't bring it up. I was exhausted again and the boy must have been as well. But the blackout persisted and the room did not feel the least bit calm for a four-year-old to be tempted into sleep.

I only had one thing in my possession that could bring us light. With my drunken reasoning I believed it to be harmless. I was breaking Dumbledore's number one rule. Sod it. Years from now I doubted the boy would remember it or remember me for that matter.

I sat on the bed and brought my wand out of my pocket while casting _Lumos_ nonverbally and the bright ball of light was born at the tip breaking the darkness instantly and engulfing us both in the globe of its rainbow-rimmed luminance.

" _Wow_ ," the boy said with wide eyes that sparkled as if fireflies danced in that maple green. He was mesmerized. "What a neat torch…Where do the batteries go?"

I was holding it between us as Potter examined the intricately carved designs of the handle, his fingertips brushing against it.

"Its solar powered."

And he seemed to find the answer acceptable as he let out a small " _oh_ " in response.

"It's warm…It feels like its humming…" Potter described before looking around the room at the effects cast by the orb of light.

"You were humming while you were cooking breakfast, weren't you?" I said and it was gentle and I thought I couldn't do "gentle" and I knew he should be sleeping but I also knew I couldn't leave him in the dark alone and I also knew I didn't want to be alone in the dark and there could exist a day in the future that I could explain to him that he was actually feeling the energy of my own magic but I doubted it because it was more realistic to believe he would find out the truth about me one day. Then he would want to have nothing to do with me or perhaps seek his own revenge. I was getting way ahead of myself obviously but I was a fool so it was understandable.

"What song was it?" I asked. It was an impulse.

"I don't know but I can sing it," the boy said with enthusiasm. "My teacher, her name's Ms. Emeny, she likes to listen to it."

It was a mystery to me of what he was like with his fellow classmates in Reception and after this summer he would start Year 1. Just one summer.

"Go on then," I might have whispered and I barely noticed the storm beginning to die down.

"Ok," the boy said and even though I could see the embarrassment in his face he began to sing:

" _Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo,_

 _Here comes the sun, and I say_

 _It's all right…_ "

And I had to smile, there was no stopping it and I knew there was a time where I did smile, when people weren't around, when I might have felt like a different person altogether…

" _Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter_

 _Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here_

 _Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo_

 _Here comes the sun, and I say_

 _It's all right…"_

Because of course it was a Beatles song instead of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, I shouldn't have expected anything else from this strange boy.

" _Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces_

 _Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here_

 _Here comes the sun_

 _Here comes the sun, and I say_

 _It's all right…"_

He was singing the entire song with a good tempo and there was a fragile feeling to his voice no matter his four-year-old pronunciation.

And I couldn't feel any resentment toward the boy, only towards myself but it wasn't like the old suffering, this was different, somehow, it wasn't as painful. I could see how happy he was to sing and it brought the warmth again. This was probably one of the few better memories to have happened in this room…

I had made a promise to an old coot of a wizard on the night I had made the biggest mistake of my life; a promise to protect Harry Potter. From the Dark Lord? That was self-explanatory. And it was obvious he would get hurt, he would have to face his own trials in the future, he was meant for bigger things…

And it was here, for the first time, that I truly felt like I needed to protect him. Not because I owed it to her because it was her son.

There was this person I was supposed to be, that, for the longest time since her death I _wanted_ myself to be. Now…now I could feel the purpose of it beginning to crumble, I could feel myself wanting to be more.

* * *

A/N: And that is Chapter 1. I hoped you enjoyed it. Please review if you have the time, I appreciate them very much. As you can see Snape is confused about how to look after Harry as well as being forced to actually learn things about him. There is plenty more for Snape to discover about little Harry as well as himself. He's still quite a young man and already is tired of living as the past is still very raw.

I apologize for any errors I may have missed.

I'm not too sure how quickly I will have **Chapter 2: The Function of a Rubber Duck** ready but Snape will have to deal with baths, bruises and single ladies.

Questions, comments, concerns, complaints? Don't hesitate to PM me.

I hope everyone is well.


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